


To Take a Chance

by WhiteWolfAmarok



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Don't Even Know, Memory Loss, Other, Romance, Sherlolly - Freeform, not sure about this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteWolfAmarok/pseuds/WhiteWolfAmarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Molly Hooper loses her memory, she loses more than just her name. How will this affect those closest to her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've posted here, so.... hi! I love reading all the great Sherlolly and was inspired to try my hand at it. Please let me know what you think!

**St. Bart's Hospital, London**

**01 January, 2015**

 

**************

"We have a female, Caucasian. Head trauma from bullet wound. Blood loss is at critical levels."

"Doctor, she's fading fast! pulse is 90/60!"

"Get the venilator, and tell Doctor Pierce to get OR ready."

The sounds were muffled and far away, as if she were under water and someone was calling her from the surface. She felt warm, but disconnected from everything. There was no pain, no fear, no... feeling. Where was she? Who was she? Too tired to think anymore, she let the darkness claim her.

***************

John Watson and Greg Lestrade had one heck of a time grappling with a frantic, out-of-control Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock, stop it! Stop it now! There's nothing you can do," huffed John, who was restraining the Consulting Detective from the left. He had a bruising right eye and bloody lip for his trouble, but he did not let go of his friend. Greg was red in the face as he kept his grip on Sherlock from the right.

"You've gotta think, mate! What can you tell them that they don't already know?!" He growled out as Sherlock continued to struggle and shout orders at anyone dressed in scrubs.

"I need to speak to the doctor in charge. That is my pathologist you have in your care, and I will not allow incompetence where she is concerned!" He snapped as a nurse hustled to where the three men struggled in the waiting room.

"Please, sirs! You must calm down or we will have to ask you to leave," She said sharply. Sherlock's laser blue eyes honed in on her, and he stopped all movement. John and Greg did not release him, but they eased the tight grips they'd maintained upon his arms.

"You're an emergency care nurse, and you've been on duty for the past seven hours based on the stains on your top and the shake in your hands. You've not had a cigarette for four hours and need one desperately. You have two cats, one child with braces and a husband who works for the rail yard. You've not been at Bart's long and you are unsure of your position here," Sherlock's mind laid out the woman before him easily, but his information was not given lightly. He continued, gaining fury and volume as he went, "You've never met Doctor Hooper and thus do not realize the extent of her importance. You do not know that she has received a severe trauma to the head from a bullet and at this moment could be losing her life. You do not have the slightest understanding of the situation and cannot-"

"Sherlock." Mycroft seemed to appear out of the shadows, immaculately dressed and unruffled as ever. He nodded at the nurse, a dismissal. Turning to his brother and his friends, Mycroft sighed. "I heard about Ms. Hooper's unfortunate incident. I have ordered the best surgeon in London, so I suggest you compose yourself."

John and Greg had released Sherlock's arms at this point, wary but ready to corral him if he decided to explode again. His older brother's cold words seemed to have the most lasting effect on Sherlock. He straightened and narrowed his eyes at Mycroft. Instead of responding verbally, Sherlock straightened his coat and sniffed haughtily.

"John, I want you to find which operating theatre Molly has been taken to. Greg, I need you to find out as much as you can at that crime scene. I'll be along later to find what you've missed." With that, Sherlock strode out of the waiting room and towards the hall where Molly and the emergency medical team had disappeared. John scratched the back of his head as Greg glared after Sherlock. Mycroft gazed at the two of them expectantly.

"I believe Sherlock will be well looked after until this is over, am I correct, Doctor Watson?"

"Of course he will be. Excuse me," John muttered as he started out after his friend. Greg and Mycroft stood in stony silence. The enormity of the past few hour's events began to hit the Inspector all at once, and he slumped into a cold chair, hands and shoulders shaking. Mycroft cleared his throat softly.

"I shall leave them in your hands, then," He said as he walked away. Greg didn't hear him as grief crept into his heart. Molly Hooper had been shot in the head, and today might be her last one on earth.

**************

 

**Bart's Hospital, London**

**15 January, 2015**

 

Her eyes opened slowly, the light streaming in from a nearby window blinding as it touched her weakened pupils. She squeezed her eyes closed again, moaning softly. Someone stirred in the chair to her left, and as she turned to look, she felt a dull pain pounding in her skull. Her mouth was dry as she tried to speak, but the figure leaned forwards. It was a woman; short blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

"Ah, there you are, Molly. We've been waiting for you to come around. How do you feel?"

"...Tired. Thirsty? Where am I?" The woman's eyes darkened a bit, but she smiled brightly. She poured some water into a small plastic cup and held it out. The bed had been raised slightly, allowing the young woman in the bed to drink without having to lift up too much. The water was cool and heavenly on her parched tongue and throat. The blonde was speaking again.

"...-here and we were so worried. The doctors said you would survive but they couldn't tell the extent of the damage-"

"Wait, what happened?" she burst out. The other woman cleared her throat and began again.

"Molly, you were shot in the head on your way to work. Do you remember that?"

"Work? Shot.... I, I don't-"

"Rest. Don't worry about it. Just rest and I'll go and get John and Sherlock. They'll be thrilled to see you're awake." The woman stood and smiled.

"Wait, before you go.... Who are you?" The blonde woman stopped still, turning to look at the woman lying in bed. She gazed back at her, eyes cloudy from the medicine, sleep and pain.

"My name is Mary. Mary Watson. We're friends, Molly. What... What else are you having trouble remembering?" Mary asked as she came back to the bedside.

"You call me 'Molly'. Is that my name?"

Mary's eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes. Your name is Molly Hooper. You're a pathologist here at Bart's Hospital."

"A pathologist? I don't remember..." Molly struggled to think back, but it was a blur. Some of the monitors near her bed began to beep shrilly in response to her agitation. Mary soothed her as she attended to the machines.

"Hey, now. No need to get upset. I'm sure this a temporary side effect of the injury. Just relax." Molly's head began to pound again.

At that moment, the door to her room swung open and two men strode in. One was short with gray-blonde hair and kind blue eyes. He wore a knitted jumper and slacks, and as he stepped into the room Mary gravitated to his side. The other man was tall, cloaked in a black jacket that hugged his thin frame. His dark hair was tossed wildly, the curls swept in disarray. His eyes were blue as well, but they were arctic in appearance, sharp and assessing. He was a beautiful creature; all light and shadows with cheeks sharp and lips plump. Nothing else in the room could compete with his presence, and Molly felt her heart rate increase as he neared.

He moved with a silent grace, sliding to the bedside where he sat in Mary's seat. He did not speak as he looked at Molly, and she herself was mesmerized by his very presence. A long, pale hand reached out, tentatively tracing along Molly's cheek. She started when he touched her, and the hand was gone in a flash.

"Molly," he began, and his voice was a deep, dark thing, rumbling and soft.

"Who are you?"

 

****************


	2. Forwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is ready to leave hospital, but where will she go?

**St. Barts Hospital, London**

**15 January, 2015**

 

 

Molly decided that she could not have shocked him more if she'd struck him. The look of surprise crossed his face like a shadow, and he cocked his head slightly.

"Memory loss due to the head trauma, affecting both short and long term memory. You do not even know your own name," he said, though Molly was only cognizant of the rumble of his voice.

"Sherlock," the other man said softly, "Maybe we ought to let Molly rest. She doesn't need to be excited too much right now." The shorter man moved to the edge of the bed and patted Molly's leg gently. "Molly, I'm so glad you're awake. I'm John, and that one there is Sherlock. We're friends of yours."

"Do I work with you?" Molly asked.

"In a manner. But we can get into that later," John smiled. He jerked his head at Sherlock, who had not moved or spoken after he'd given his pronouncement of her condition. Slowly, as if it pained him, Sherlock stood and pulled up the collar of his coat, nodding once at Molly before sweeping from the room. John rolled his eyes at his friend's dramatics, kissed Mary and left as well. Molly closed her eyes once they had gone, trying desperately to pull up facts or past memories to go with the faces and voices she could not remember. Nothing came, except for sharp pain. Mary resumed her vigil at Molly's side, and she placed a hand on Molly's shoulder.

"Trying to force those memories can do more damage than good. Hopefully they'll come back on their own. For now, just sleep." Molly nodded weakly and did just that, all the while wondering why her heart seemed to ache so.

 

*************************

 

Over the next several weeks, Molly was introduced to many new people, all with names, faces and memories supposedly connected to her. She regained strength and was soon allowed to attempt to dress, then walk, and then, finally, she was deemed safe enough to leave the protection and restraint of the hospital.

Mary and John were busy helping her pack her meager belongings into a suitcase John had produced earlier in the day.

"Mary, don't forget the shampoo in the shower, and did you pack her blue jumper?" asked John as he was scanning the room for anything they might have missed.

"You packed the jumper, John," said Molly from her spot on the edge of her hospital bed. She clutched a stack of get well letters and a small stuffed dog in her lap. "Mary already got the shampoo."

"Oh. Well, right. Is there anything else we've missed, Molly?" He asked.

"I don't think so," she responded, glancing about the room. Several arrangements of flowers and small gifts had already been removed, taken away by John and a nice man named Greg, who Molly learned was a police Inspector. He'd had tears in his eyes when she'd revealed her inability to remember him, but he'd been kind and patient. He came as often as the Watsons, spending time with her and telling her anything she wanted to know about her past. She'd never wanted for visitors, except for Sherlock. He'd never returned after that first visit, and any queries after him had been met with awkward silences and pitying glances. Molly couldn't understand what his aversion to her was about, but John, Mary and Greg had all assured her that he was a peculiar man, and that he did care, in his way.

Mary came back into the room, disrupting Molly's train of thought. She sat down gently beside Molly and called for John.

"Now that we've gotten you packed up, we have the matter of where you're going to go," she said.

"I thought I had an apartment," Molly said, confused.

"The doctors feel that you need to have someone with you for a few months. There is still a chance that you could develop seizures, or experience blackouts," John explained. "Besides, you don't remember where you live or where shops and stores are."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Molly protested. "I don't really have any other options."

"You could live with John and me for a bit," Mary offered.

Before either John or Molly could utter a word, Sherlock stepped into the room. The three turned to stare at him as he fidgeted with his hands.

"That is unnecessary, Mary," he said in a rush. "I have made arrangements for Molly to stay in John's room until her doctor feels it is safe for her to live on her own. Besides, You and John are still in your honeymoon phase and it would not do to have another person underfoot. She will be far less of a bother at Baker Street."

"Sherlock!" John hissed, "Molly is not a bother, and if she wants to stay with us, she's bloody well welcome to! Where do you come off-"

"I'll stay with him," Molly said hesitantly, cutting John's tirade at the quick. He, Mary and Sherlock all turned to stare at Molly. She blushed profusely and fiddled with the stuffed dog. Sherlock's eyes were drawn to the animal in her hands, and it took him a few seconds to drag his eyes back up to hers.

"There. You see John? I have everything prepared. Now, I'd like to get back to Baker Street as soon as possible. I have an experiment in the freezer and if I don't check on it in an hour, it could ruin any chances my client has of producing a viable alibi." He waited as John and Mary gathered what few things Molly had and hovered behind them as they made their way to the hospital checkout station.

Once Molly and her things had been bundled into a cab, John snagged Sherlock and drug him off to the side.

"Listen to me, Sherlock. Molly is still very tired and does not need you to bother her in any way. If I find out that you are causing her distress, I'll-"

"John, I have no desire to do anything to cause Molly Hooper any distress. I am simply giving her a place to stay where she will be safe. I promise... I promise to be good, John," Sherlock said this last bit quietly, hesitantly, as if he was not sure how to express the words. John sighed but nodded, allowing the Detective to pass him and enter the cab.

Mary came to his side as the cabbie drove away. She placed her arms around his middle and poked his chest.

"You shouldn't be so hard on Sherlock, love," she chided gently. John looked down at her. "

What? Why? You know how he can get."

"John," Mary said with exasperation, "Did you know that Sherlock has been at the hospital every night since Molly was admitted?" Mary smiled as her husband stiffened in shock.

"What?"

"He's been the one to sit with her overnight. Mycroft initially had someone to do it, but Sherlock insisted. Didn't you think it was curious that he never had time to do anything in the evenings or overnight? That he didn't take cases that would demand too much of his time?"

"He never said. He didn't even want to talk about her when I tried to bring her up. I knew he felt responsible, but I never realized..."

"Responsibility was not at the forefront of his mind, John. He was determined to protect her. I saw him once, early in the morning a few weeks ago. He looked so sad, sitting there. He looked... lost." Mary's voice softened as she trailed off. John said nothing as she led him away. Mary hoped that Molly and Sherlock would come together because of this. She had not seen two people more complimentary of each other. And if anyone could help Molly unlock her past, it was Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here is chapter two. I know things are moving slowly, but I hope to increase the speed of the story now that Molly is free from hospital. I am also looking for a beta or someone to bounce ideas around with. Anyone? I love to talk Sherlock, so if interested let me know!


End file.
